karawynn the spy
The single moment I remember most clearly from my first grade year is when my teacher handed me a library copy of Harriet the Spy and told me that I should read it because I reminded him of her. (The fact that my first-grade teacher was a man was astonishing for Texas in the seventies, where teaching prior to high school was very much a female-only profession.)
At seven I looked a lot like Harriet in the original illustrations: super-straight blond hair in a bob cut, heavy dark-rimmed glasses. And like Harriet, I was precocious, an only child, deeply introspective, and socially clueless. I desperately needed to learn the things Harriet does about how to get along with other people, but I don’t think they really sunk in until years later. But something about the book, and the gesture, meant enough to stick with me for thirty years and more.
I would search online for my first-grade teacher just to thank him for giving me Harriet, but sadly there’s not a snowball’s chance: his name was John Smith.
NPR tribute to Harriet the Spy
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karawynn) wrote,
nostalgic
